


The Queen Is Dead

by Eenna



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eenna/pseuds/Eenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhysand can't quite believe it's done and over with. But some things take time to get over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen Is Dead

The Queen is dead, and the war is over. But the battle scars still decorate his thoughts, and his fingers can still feel the hilt of his sword. Before everything, before the forty year reign of selfish faerie fancy and abuse, Rhysand wouldn't have said he'd one day be broken. But as he stares at the gory remains of a woman he couldn't kill but wished dead with his entire being, he's not sure WHAT he's feeling. Broken night not be the right word, but it may be something similar.

What's forty years to a faerie - a being practically immortal?

With all the killing he did on her behalf and he couldn't do it to the one person he most wanted to. It's not fair that she didn't suffer the way he suffered underneath her cruel touch and twisted words. That no one will ever recognize the sacrifice he's made, all that damage he redirected, all the torture he suffered on others' behalf, probably cuts the deepest. Best they don't know, either.

After all, he's got a reputation to upkeep. One isn't just a Prince of the Night Court without it.

They deal with dead bodies everyday in their Court. Rhysand has dealt with plenty himself.

A smirk, and a convincing fake smile, maybe a scathingly sarcastic remark or two, and he's back to the way things were. Untouchable. In control. After all, if he can dish out the abuse, why can't he take it.

Tamlin, High Faerie of the Spring Court has his little human warrior princess, and his cute, if devastatingly naive second hand by his side. His poor tortured soul is safe in the knowledge that he isn't responsible for any of the bloodshed. But, hey, no one's really all that innocent in war, are they?

Tamlin might not have dirtied his hands, but he sure as hell didn't bat an eyelash at the abuse suffered by his friend and informer. Lucien, a kindred soul of sorts, loyal to a fault, but everyone . . . breaks. Eventually.

Rhysand would know, he's broken enough people in his time. And he thought it FUN.

The war is over, and the Queen is dead. Her body is right in front of him. Her sightless eyes, though, are staring up at him like they were in life. Their colour hasn't changed even though their life is long gone. If there is one thing he'll forever remember about her, it would be her eyes. Her eyes as they mocked him. Her eyes as she fucked him. Her eyes when he came back bloody and bruised, and sour with his victory.

He wasn't on her side, but would anyone care to really know the truth after his apparent obedience?

Surely, things can't go back to the way they were.

No one blinks when he picks up her head by the blood-matted hair. No, they're more focused on the conquering couple. An end to war calls for celebration! Of course everyone is cheering.

He tosses it aside. He doesn't need morbid reminders of what the evil woman looked like, in life and in death. But her wings . . . her wings he'll keep as ghoulish trophies. After all, a faerie is all but crippled without the use of them. Maybe he'll put them behind glass and hang them above his bed. Maybe then, he'll feel better. Wings don't rot. They'll always stay beautiful. Beautiful, but useless.

They take effort to detach. He has to use his claws to tear through the sinews. His hands are once again bloody—she hasn't been dead for long, her blood hasn't had time to congeal. He leaves shredded stumps and doesn't let the memories of every fairy he's done this to at her command surface to the forefront of his mind. Bitch deserves some bad karma.

He feels the aura beside him before Lucien speaks. "Does it feel any better?"

Perhaps Rhysand owes the boy an apology. Tamlin was a stuborn bastard that the Queen couldn't touch, but his lapdog . . . he was another story. Many a time did Rhysand have the gruesome pleasure of carrying out her every wish in Lucien's flesh.

"Yes." He grins. "The Queen is dead, after all."

Lucien's eyes soften and Rhysand is afraid he's laced his voice with more bitterness than he thought.

"And the war is over," Lucien concludes.

"That's right." Rhysand spreads his own recently returned wings and just luxuriates in the stretch of them. Wide and luminous, they feel light without the Queen's heavy chains keeping them immovable. "But just because you've healed all the gashes, babe, doesn't mean you don't have scars." He takes a pointed look at Lucien's unseeing, golden left eye—a token of her appreciation for Lucien being smart one time. "Take care, love."

Since lingering would only bring up past demons, he doesn't linger.


End file.
